Do No Harm
by elev
Summary: An AU in which Shaw is not a doctor, Elizabeth exhibits very poor decision making skills, and both of them are driving Dr. Tillman up the wall. Total crackfic. More chapters to come.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N I couldn't resist. Total crackfic. I'm so not sorry. Poor Dr. Tillman. Expect another chapter or two soon._

 _Elizabeth is my character._  
#####

It starts innocently enough.

Dr. Tillman likes both her jobs. Most days of the week, she's an ER doctor down at St. Vincent's, but every so often she gets a mysterious phone call and then she spends the next few hours or days patching up one of John's acquaintances at the Hawking Memorial Clinic, a _very_ exclusive facility in Manhattan.

They're both good gigs. The ER is long periods of relative calm that can turn hectic and and terrifying at a moment's notice; an arriving ambulance pumps Dr. Tillman full of adrenaline surer than an IV, but she's the paradoxical calm among the chaos, moving methodically, with laser-sighted focus. Prioritizing, parallelizing. She's good at her work, good at saving lives, but sometimes she hates what she does, hates that some people that don't make it.

In contrast, the Hawking Memorial Clinic is tranquil—and boring. There are no ambulances wailing there, only a handful of patients that need monitored (and occasionally babysat) as they heal. Sometimes Dr. Tillman needs the repose, the peace, the quiet. Sometimes she needs a few days in a row where nobody dies. Other times, she starts yearning for a little excitement.

And one day, she gets it.

She's headed back up the hallway after checking on a patient when she passes the doorway to the locker rooms. She hears shuffling inside, and voices.

"...don't think it'll fit," comes a voice.

"You saying I'm fat?" comes another voice. A snarky, sarcastic voice. Dr. Tillman recognizes it right away.

"Elizabeth?" she says. "Shaw? What are you two doing in here?" She comes around the corner to see the two of them frozen like kids caught red-handed pillaging a cookie jar. Shaw is halfway into a pair of green scrub trousers and Elizabeth has her blouse hanging off one arm. Her face reddens. Shaw shrugs and pulls up the pants.

"Uh...borrowing some clothes?" Elizabeth squeaks.

"You two weren't making out in here, were you?" Dr. Tillman asks suspiciously.

"No!" Elizabeth says.

(Dr. Tillman is pretty sure she hears Shaw mumble something about missed opportunities.)

"Why are you two pilfering scrubs?" Dr. Tillman asks.

"Uh—um—"

"Our latest number works at a hospital," Shaw says. "We need to get close to him." She tosses a scrub top at Elizabeth, who manages to catch it before it hits her face.

"So you're stealing our scrubs?" Dr. Tillman asks.

"Borrowing," Shaw says. "Acquiring. Acquisitioning. Whatever. The colors are almost identical."

Dr. Tillman finally realizes the implications of their thievery.

"You're going to go undercover as—what, nurses? Doctors? To get at this guy?"

"Yeah," Elizabeth says. She pulls the top over her head and smooths it with her hands.

"Do either of you have _any_ medical training at all?" Dr. Tillman asks.

"Uh..." Elizabeth says. Shaw shrugs and says, "Some basics."

"What do you call a gunshot wound in medical parlance?"

"A hole?" Shaw tries.

"Trick question. Do either of you know how to run an IV?"

Elizabeth blanches. Shaw looks sheepish and says, "Eh, it's been awhile..."

Dr. Tillman pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "You're going to stick out like sore thumbs."

"You got a better idea?" Elizabeth says defensively.

"Actually, yeah," Dr. Tillman says, putting her hands on her hips. "How about a _real_ doctor to go along with your charade?"

Dr. Tillman is bored out of her mind. She figures a little excitement couldn't hurt. After all, it's just for a few hours. How bad could it be?

#####

Later that evening, John gets a phone call.

"Dr. Tillman," he says smoothly, leaning back in Finch's desk chair. He kicks his feet up on the desk. "What can I do for you?"

"I am _never_ working with the Terrible Two again," comes the seething yet calm voice from the phone's speaker.

"Uh...the case didn't go so good?"

"John," Dr. Tillman says. "For a brief, glorious five seconds this afternoon, I was. on. _Fire_."

"Oh," John says.

"And on the sixth second, I was soaking wet, because Shaw shoved me under an emergency shower."

"...that's a good thing when you're on fire," Reese notes.

"It wouldn't shut off! It jammed open! "

"Oh," John says.

"So after somehow avoiding explaining to some very, _very_ grumpy administrators just how we managed to flood an _entire wing_ of the building, I go out to the parking lot, _soaked to the bone_ , to find my car has been towed."

John runs his hand over his face.

"Finch will pay for it—" he begins.

"That's not the point. The point is, Shaw _broke into_ somebody's car and _stole it_ to drive us home."

"She's resourceful like that."

"And then the cops tried pulling us over."

" _'Tried'?_ "

"Turn on the news. Now."

Reese blinks and reaches for the keyboard on Finch's desk. Before he can enter a password, one of the six screens lights up on its own and a web browser appears.

"POLICE STILL SEARCHING FOR SUSPECTS IN DANGEROUS HIGH-SPEED CHASE—"

"Wow," Reese says. A video begins to play; shot from a helicopter, it tracks a small brown sportscar as it neatly skids through an intersection, taking the turn just fast enough to throw off the cops cars on its tail. "Slick driving. That's Shaw. Think she's showing off a bit. Where are you now?"

"In my house," Dr. Tillman says. "Watching myself nearly die. It's on every channel, John."

"Relax—"

" _Every. Channel_. I—look at that—did you see that? Did you _see_ that? How did I live through that?"

Even John is dully impressed at the way the little sportscar weaves in and out between other cars.

"Try not to think about it too much," John says. "The important thing is you're here and the bad guy was stopped."

" _Barely,_ " Dr. Tillman hisses. "Elizabeth was _zero_ help. She tried hacking the elevator to make it go faster because Shaw thought it was too slow stopping at each floor. _We got stuck between floors_."

"Ah," Reese says.

"Then she spent five minutes trying to hack the hospital firewall. Why, you ask? Because she wanted to show Shaw some picture of _God_ -knows-what, and the firewall wouldn't let her because the site was blocked for 'Adult Activities'. We were _this_ close to getting caught in the supervisor's office."

"But you didn't," John points out.

"And Shaw? Don't even get me started. She's the reason I was on fire, you know. Did I mention that? _Why_ did she even have a cigarette lighter? She doesn't even smoke!"

"Uh—"

"I don't know what their problem is," Dr. Tillman growls. "Look, I know Shaw. Okay? She's _really_ good with guns, and rescuing people, and stuff like that. And Elizabeth is smart enough—most days. She can make a computer do things it's _not_ supposed to do. Shaw and Elizabeth are just great when they're apart. But when they're working _together_? I swear, their IQ drops by about a hundred points! _Each_. _Especially_ Elizabeth's!"

"So I've noticed," John says dryly.

"I like them, but this is ridiculous!"

"Look, uh—Finch can take care of everything."

"Including my frazzled nerves?"

"That's what alcohol is for."

"Oh, for the love of God—look, you know what? Ultimatum. First: don't ever put me on a case with those two. _Ever_. Second? I want a raise."

"A raise," John parrots dumbly.

"If I have to keep taking time away from my patients to put those two idiots back together, I want my money's worth."

"How much?" John sighs.

Later that evening, John tells Finch how much. Finch blinks owlishly at John.

"They're worth the cost," he mumbles.

#####


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N Poor Tillman._

#####

After the hospital case goes sideways, Dr. Tillman welcomes the chaos of the ER. She buries herself in her work to forget her terrible experience. After a week or so, she's feeling a little better. Like, she could probably be in the same room as Shaw and Elizabeth and not be overwhelmed with the urge to throttle either of them.

Probably.

She's on break, sitting on a bench near the fountain in the hospital courtyard, when she gets a phone call on her cell. The number is blocked. She doesn't get a lot of calls from blocked numbers. In fact, she can count the number of people who habitually call her from blocked numbers on one hand.

 _Please don't tell me John got shot in the ass again_ , she thinks as she answers the phone.

"Tillman," she says.

"Hey, it's Elizabeth," comes the voice at the other end of the line, and Dr. Tillman scowls.

" _No_. I am _not_ getting involved with anything like that again," she says. " _Ever_."

"Relax," Elizabeth says. "We just need some medical advice."

"If you're hurt bad, you should go to the ER—"

"It's okay, we're not bleeding or anything."

Dr. Tillman breathes a sigh of relief. "All right, fine. Shoot."

"Yeah, so—we got this, uh, lotion," Elizabeth starts.

(In the background, Dr. Tillman hears Shaw saying, "I don't think it's actually lotion.")

"And?" Dr. Tillman says.

"And it's supposed to be, um, for intimate stuff. Like, not lube, but it makes your skin tingly and super sensitive."

("Definitely sensitive", Shaw says.)

"...and?" Dr. Tillman says, willing the mental images of Shaw and Elizabeth being intimate to flee her mind.

"Yeah, uh, this stuff itches. Like, really bad. And Shaw's breaking out into hives. You got anything for that?"

 _Oh, dear God_ , Dr. Tillman thinks. She stands and paces back and forth. "Allergic reaction, maybe? What ingredients does it have in it?"

There's static on the line.

"Elizabeth?" Dr. Tillman says. "What's in it?"

"...it doesn't really say," Elizabeth says. "The bottle, I mean. It's kinda plain."

"Well, what brand is it? Where did you get it?"

"The Internet," Elizabeth says, and Dr. Tillman facepalms.

"You bought an unidentified substance off the Internet and slathered it all over your skin?"

" _I_ didn't," Elizabeth protests. "Well, I mean, I bought it, yeah, but I only tried a little bit. Shaw's the one who slathered."

Dr. Tillman sighs. "I think that concussion last month did more damage than I thought."

"Whatever."

("Can you get a move on already?")

"Okay, I know a dermatologist," Dr. Tillman says, and she gives a name. "Bring the bottle, okay? And, if it gets really bad, go to the ER."

"Thanks," Elizabeth says. "I don't think it's that bad."

("You're not the one that put it on your—")

Dr. Tillman coughs. "And next time, do some research before you buy random stuff from the Internet. Okay?"

"Okay," Elizabeth says.

Dr. Tillman hangs up and sends a text message to her friend, warning her of the incoming patients.

 _I can't_ believe _those two haven't managed to get themselves killed_ , she thinks to herself.

#####

A few days later, while sitting by the window at a cafe: another phone call.

"Tillman."

"Hey, it's Elizabeth," says Elizabeth, and Dr. Tillman rolls her eyes.

"Please tell me you haven't applied more random crap from the Internet onto your intimates."

"We haven't," Elizabeth says. "And to be fair, the website was _really_ convincing."

Dr. Tillman nearly coughs up the cookie she's eating.

"I can link you to a _really convincing_ website that says the Earth is flat," she says. "Or that cell towers are NSA listening posts."

"The second one might be true. Anyhow. Can you help me move something? It's kinda heavy and I'm still feeling the bruises from yesterday."

It takes Dr. Tillman a few seconds to process this.

"Move something?" she says. "Like, furniture?"

"A box."

"You want me to stop whatever I'm doing and come help you move a _box_?"

"Yeah, I mean, the place is right down the street from the cafe where you're eating brunch."

Dr. Tillman glares at her phone, then out the window. She sees no one familiar.

"...how the _heck_ did you know I'm here?"

"Lucky guess," Elizabeth says. Dr. Tillman narrows her eyes.

"Fine," she says. " _After_ I finish my mocha. But only because it's on my way back to the hospital."

She takes her time enjoying the rest of her mocha, in part because she wants to irritate Elizabeth by making her wait and in part because the barista had managed to find the perfect balance of coffee and cocoa for once, and she's going to _enjoy_ it. When she's done, she heads down the sidewalk. A block away, Dr. Tillman spots Elizabeth. (Actually, she spots the frizzy hair first, then she spots Elizabeth.) She's leaning against a compact silver SUV with the rear hatch open, revealing a long, hefty-looking cardboard box.

"Thanks for coming," Elizabeth says, scratching the back of her head. "I'd call Shaw but she's with John doing a thing..."

"That sounded wrong," Tillman says.

Elizabeth snorts. "And you say _I'm_ a pervert."

"That's because you are," Dr. Tillman says. She motions to the box. "Where are we taking this thing?"

"Second story," Elizabeth says, pointing at the brownstone apartment behind her. "I can push it once we get it up there."

Dr. Tillman groans, but she takes one end of the box. It's about a foot square and six feet long. Even with two people carrying it, the weight is impressive, but it's nothing they can't handle together.

They haul the box up the concrete steps and into the apartment, pausing to rest at the foot of the staircase leading to the second story. Elizabeth bends down to pick up the box again and Dr. Tillman reminds her, "Lift with your legs!"

"Okay, okay," Elizabeth grumbles.

"If you come to me with back pain, I'm going to tell you I told you so."

Elizabeth sticks out her tongue.

Getting it up the spiral staircases is an exercise in patience, and by the time they finally get the box up to the landing, they're both panting.

"Jesus," Dr. Tillman says, setting the box down on a towel with a dull _thump_. (Elizabeth had thought ahead far enough to put the towel down, so the box wouldn't scratch the floor when pushed.) "What the heck _is_ this thing?"

"A St. Andrew's Cross," Elizabeth says. "Some assembly required."

"A—" Dr. Tillman sputters and stares at Elizabeth. "You bought a St. Andrew's Cross."

"Yeah," Elizabeth says. "Got it online. Did my _research_ , too." She rolls her eyes. "This is the sturdiest one I could find. Shaw managed to break the last one."

"She— _broke_ —?"

"Yeah, you know those bruises and cuts she had a few weeks ago?"

"I—I don't want to know." Dr. Tillman stutters, and she turns and flees down the staircase.

"Thanks for the help!" Elizabeth calls after her.

#####

A week later, late one evening, Dr. Tillman is lounging on her couch watching the latest Hawaii 5-0. Her phone rings.

"Elizabeth knocked herself out," Shaw says. "I'm not sure if I should move her. Can you...?"

Dr. Tillman goes into diagnostic mode. "If she's breathing fine, don't move her head," she instructs. She's already off the couch. "If she develops problems breathing, call 911. Perform CPR if it's an emergency, but _don't_ tilt her head. I'll be right over."

She snags her emergency go-bag from the bedroom and searches for a pair of sweatpants. Less than ten minutes later, Dr. Tillman is at the apartment. Shaw comes to the front door wearing a fluffy green bathrobe that doesn't suit her at all.

"Oh, good, you're here," she says. Dr. Tillman notes she looks rather dishevelled. "Elizabeth came to. She's in the living room. She might've broken her wrist."

Elizabeth is seated on the leather couch. She's wearing a bathrobe similar to Shaw's. Her hair is even messier than usual. Dr. Tillman's eyes are immediately drawn to the huge bruise on her forehead, and then to the way she's limply cradling her wrist.

"Wow, what happened?" Dr. Tillman asks. She sets her bag down on the floor, sits next to Elizabeth, and motions for her wrist.

"I made her come so hard, the rope snapped," Shaw says, sounding proud. "She hit herself in the forehead and knocked herself out."

"It was a _really_ good orgasm," Elizabeth confirms smugly. "Shaw knows all the right spots to hit."

Dr. Tillman gapes at the two of them. "T-M- _I_!" she says finally. "Ever heard of it?"

"I thought we were supposed to be able to share _everything_ with our doctor," Elizabeth says, her voice a purr.

"Within reason!"

"You did ask," Shaw reminds Dr. Tillman.

"You could've stopped at 'hit herself in the forehead'."

"Yeah, but then you wouldn't have gotten the awesome context," Elizabeth says.

"I really didn't need to hear it."

"If you're jealous or something, Shaw can help."

"Jealous? Really? Does this look like my jealousy face to you?"

(She's not jealous. At all.)

"It's been awhile since I've topped for someone else," Shaw muses, "but if you really wanted, we could—"

Dr. Tillman ignores the twinge between her legs.

" _Shaw_ ," she snarls. She points to the door. "Go wait outside or something. Stop making Elizabeth even more pervy than usual!"

Shaw smirks and says "I'll fix some tea for Elizabeth." She disappears into the kitchen.

"I swear," Dr. Tillman says as she examines Elizabeth's wrist, "you two are the _worst_ when you're in the same room."

Elizabeth shrugs. "Shaw and I understand each other."

"In other words, you're both unmitigated perverts."

"True. _Ow!_ That might be broken, you know _._ "

"I think it's just sprained," Dr. Tillman says. "The pain is very localized. Put ice on it to keep the swelling down and take it easy with that hand for a day or two. Try not to write or type too much. Take ibuprofen if you need it."

"Fine," Elizabeth grumbles. "Thanks for looking at it."

"Sure."

She shifts her attention to the bruise on Elizabeth's forehead. It's gotten darker, but it doesn't look critical. "Might need some ice for that too," Dr. Tillman says. "I'm more worried about a concussion."

"Psh, I was only out for like a minute."

"That's bad," Dr. Tillman says. "Let me see your eyes."

Elizabeth winces away from the little flashlight, but quickly ascertains that Elizabeth's pupils are the same size.

"Any dizziness? Nausea?" Dr. Tillman asks.

"Nope."

"How about memory loss?"

"Nope," Elizabeth says. "Which is good because I wouldn't believe Shaw otherwise if she told me I came so hard I snapped the—"

"I'm concerned. You seem to have _forgotten_ that whole 'TMI' thing we were discussing earlier."

"Whatever," Elizabeth says cheerfully. "But, seriously, if you wanted to try it for yourself, Shaw would be happy to help. She's great"

"I'm never going to get the mental image of you two out of my head."

"Is it really that bad? Two consenting adults engaging in _awesome_ fetishy lovemaking—?"

Another twinge between her legs.

"Can you just stop talking about it?" Dr. Tillman says desperately. "Please? You can brag all about your literal mind-blowing orgasm to Shaw once I leave."

"Fine," Elizabeth says petulantly.

#####

As Dr. Tillman leaves the apartment, she calls John.

"We need to talk about that raise," she says when the line connects.

"Which raise?" John says. "The one from last month?"

"The one I need before I ever go on another housecall for the Deviant Duo again."

John chuckles. Doesn't protest at all. "I'll ask Finch. How much more do you want?"

She gives a number, just to be spiteful, and is a little disappointed when John doesn't even sound surprised.

"I'll ask him," he says evenly. "Call you back."

Finch doesn't even blink when John tells him how much Dr. Tillman wants.

"Of course," he says. "Whatever it takes for her to keep those two patched up."

#####


	3. Chapter 3

#####

It's Saturday and Dr. Tillman is enjoying a busy afternoon of watering her houseplants, feeding the fish in the aquarium, and dozing off on the couch with a book on her chest as _The Price is Right_ drone in the background. The day is perfect: no obligations, no pressing issues.

Until somebody calls, waking her from her lazy slumber. She opens one eye and glares at the cell phone on her coffee table.

Blocked number.

 _Huh,_ Tillman thinks to herself. _I wonder who this could possibly be_? She's tempted to let it go to voicemail, but there's always a non-negligible chance that John is bleeding out somewhere, so she sighs, snags the phone off the table, and answers the call.

"Tillman," she says drowsily.

"...hi," comes a familiar and somewhat unwelcome voice. "It's, um, it's Elizabeth."

Casting her eyes to the ceiling, Tillman stares at the smoke detector for several seconds and briefly wonders why Elizabeth's voice sounds so tinny before saying, "Right. What can I do for you this time, Elizabeth?"

"Yeah, uh...I could use a little help."

Tillman rolls her eyes. "What kind of help? Medical help? Moving help? The kind of help that involves cars crashing and doctors drowning?"

"None of those," Elizabeth says. There's a pause, and she adds, "I'm kinda tied up at the moment."

"Why'd you call me, then?" Dr. Tillman asks crossly.

"That _is_ why I called you," Elizabeth says.

Dr. Tillman considers that for a moment. When she realizes what Elizabeth is implying, her eyes go comically wide. The cell phone nearly slips from her fingers.

"Please tell me you're kidding," she says. "This is a joke, right?"

"No," Elizabeth says. She laughs nervously. "I'm, uh, I'm actually tied up."

"Did you get kidnapped?" Dr. Tillman says sharply. "Are you hurt? Did Shaw leave you like that?"

"No...it's kinda my fault. I was horny, and I wanted to be ready for Shaw when she got home..."

Dr. Tillman can hardly believe what she's hearing.

" _Really_?" she says, incredulous.

"Yeah. You can see where this is going."

"So you went and tied yourself up and, don't tell me, let me guess: Shaw's running late."

"Shaw got a case," Elizabeth says glumly. "I'm at the Washington loft. Uh, how soon do you think you can—"

"Unbelievable," Dr. Tillman says. She sits up. "Just—unbelievable."

"But you're coming over, right? I'll give you the guest code."

"Yeah," Dr. Tillman sighs. "Yeah, I'll be over in a bit."

#####

Dr. Tillman lets herself into the loft. Its interior is large but not ostentatious; sparse and minimal. She looks around and calls, "Okay, I'm here."

Elizabeth's voice drifts down the staircase. "I'm upstairs."

As if the trail of rose petals on the steps left any doubt. Dr. Tillman marvels at the absurdity of the entire situation as she follows the trail to a door that's ajar.

Without thinking, she pushes it open.

"You are so _dumb_ sometimes," she starts, and then she notices Elizabeth.

Elizabeth is on the bed. Elizabeth is on the bed, and she's—

"Oh, Jesus!" Dr. Tillman yelps, quickly looking aside. "You're naked."

"Well, yeah," Elizabeth says. She wiggles her foot, the only part of her visible in Dr. Tillman's peripheral vision. "Being naked is kinda the point."

Dr. Tillman glances and looks away again.

 _Well, that mental image is_ never _going to leave_ , she thinks. She contemplates snapping a photo or two on her phone. (For blackmail purposes, of course.) Elizabeth's legs are spread, her ankles bound to each bedpost by dark blue ropes, and her arms are tied up above her head. There's an array of _very_ inappropriate objects arrayed on the sheets between her legs and Dr. Tillman doesn't recognize most of them, although their purpose is clear.

Not that she looked for very long.

Still trying pointedly to look at neither Elizabeth's nude form nor the devices laid out on the sheets, Dr. Tillman crosses the room to the bed.

"If I wasn't such a good friend, I'd probably leave you like this," Tillman complains to the nightstand. Elizabeth's cell phone is on top with a message from Shaw. Next to the phone is a little pink remote control with a glowing blue power LED.

Her first thought, naturally: _Wow_ , _is it on?_

Her second thought: _Where's the other end?_

Her following thoughts: _Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it...!_

She's not sure if she hears a faint buzz or if it's just her imagination.

"I owe you cookies," Elizabeth says. She's remarkably unfazed by the whole incident.

(Dr. Tillman has a thoroughly immature and inappropriate urge to grab the remote and mess with the buttons, but she's too professional to act on it. Barely.)

She quickly decides that untying Elizabeth's hands would probably be the fastest way to get her free with the least exposure to nudity, so she crawls up onto the bed above Elizabeth and stares dumbly at her bound wrists. The ropes are cinched tight and pulled up above Elizabeth's head.

"How the _heck_ did you get your hands tied like this?"

"Two-ring ratchet. Lots of how-to guides online. Uh, you might want to just find some scissors. In the top drawer, I think...?"

Dr. Tillman sighs and opens the drawer. She stares. Gingerly avoiding the other items—why did they even _have_ a TENS unit in there?—she fetches the EMT-style safety shears and slams the drawer shut. She begins to hack at the rope between Elizabeth's wrists and the bed.

 _"_ You know you're _literally_ the reason I drink, right?" she says. "How do you keep doing stupid things like this?"

"I dunno," Elizabeth says.

"No, seriously." There goes one strand of rope. "Like—you're really smart. You can make my laptop start the eClinic app in less than five seconds. _Nobody_ can do that. That's amazing. And then you go and tie yourself up like this without a way out?"

"You were my backup," Elizabeth says, and Dr. Tillman can't decide if she's honored or horrified. Maybe both.

"And if I hadn't answered the phone?"

"Uh...John."

"And if he hadn't—?"

"All right, I get the point," Elizabeth says.

Another strand.

"Just to be absolutely clear: if this happens again—and it'd better _not_ , but if it does—I'm sending John in my stead."

"Fine, whatever."

She finally cuts through all the ropes. Next, she has to pick at the slip knot cinching Elizabeth's wrists, but soon they loosen and Elizabeth manages to slip her hands free from the ropes. Dr. Tillman hands her the scissors.

"You're doing the rest," she says. Elizabeth shrugs her freckled shoulders and gets to work. Dr. Tillman adds, "I'm waiting outside until you've cut yourself free."

She stands safely beyond the bedroom door, far enough back to avoid the temptation to look again, while Elizabeth frees her legs.

"Say," Dr. Tillman calls, "How did you even manage to call me when you were tied up?"

"Voice dial," Elizabeth says.

"At least you're not dumb enough to use a gag."

"I don't need a gag until Shaw gets here," Elizabeth says. Dr. Tillman sighs and rests her forehead against the wall.

Another fine mental image to add to her growing collection. She's going to have to do something about that soon.

A few minutes later, Elizabeth comes out of the bedroom. Fortunately for Dr. Tillman, she's wearing a bathrobe.

"So, uh, thanks," Elizabeth says, blushing.

"The things I do for my friends," Dr. Tillman says, rolling her eyes. But she pats Elizabeth on the shoulder and then follows her down the stairs to the front door.

"Try not to do anything stupid like that again, okay?" Dr. Tillman says. "Seriously, that's really dangerous."

"Okay," Elizabeth says. She appears to be deep in thought.

"How many times have you done this?"

"Once or twice," Elizabeth says, shrugging.

"Then tell Shaw she's an idiot for letting you do it a third time."

"Whatever," Elizabeth says.

Dr. Tillman turns to leave, but stops when Elizabeth says, "Say, uh..."

"Yeah?"

"...so, in the future," Elizabeth says coyly, "do you think—maybe it'd be safer if you could, uh, help out with something like this...?"

" _Seriously_?" Dr. Tillman is flabbergasted.

"Yeah," Elizabeth says. "Like, you could tie me up, and then wait in the living room until Shaw gets here. Or something. That way it's not a big deal if she's held up."

Dr. Tillman can't get the image out of her head. It takes her a few tries to find her voice.

"I'm—I'm just gonna—I'm leaving now," she stutters. She yanks open the front door and flees down the front steps, leaving the door open wide behind her.

"Guess not," Elizabeth says.

#####

Dr. Tillman goes through a full pack of AA batteries that evening.

#####

A few days later...

Dr. Tillman thinks her afternoon at the Hawking Memorial Clinic is going quite nicely until one of the nurses tracks her down and tells her a patient is waiting.

"She's really insistent, she wants to see you and only you," says the young Black man. "She won't tell me what's wrong. She asks you to hurry."

 _She_. That narrows Dr. Tillman's list of probable suspects down to two people. Dr. Tillman thanks the nurse and heads for the examination room. She opens the door to find Elizabeth sitting on the edge of the bed. She blushing like mad and her hands are gripping the side of the bed tight enough to make her fingers turn white. Shaw is standing next to her.

They're both wearing bathrobes.

That's never a good sign.

"We...can't get it out," Shaw mumbles, not meeting Dr. Tillman's eyes.

"And it's still running," Elizabeth says. Her voice is very strained and her legs are pressed tight together.

Dr. Tillman puts it all together and wants to scream.

"I quit," she announces, turning on her heel. She yanks the door shut behind her.

She waits a minute in the hallway, both to compose herself and to make Elizabeth squirm more. Then she heaves a deep sigh and goes back into the examination room.

"Okay," she says, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves as ominously as possible. "Please tell me it's at least something that's _supposed_ to go in there..."

#####

She gets a phone call a few hours later.

"I'll be succinct, Dr. Tillman," says Finch. "I am willing to pay whatever it takes for those two to have the best medical care available. You're the best. What is your price?"

"First off," Dr. Tillman says, "I wasn't serious about quitting. Although any lesser doctor would've done so by now. Second off, it's not the money: it's the stupidity. You need to keep those two on a leash or something!"

"I believe Miss Shaw already has that sort of thing covered," Finch says faintly, and Dr. Tillman groans.

Yet another mental image. Dr. Tillman thinks she's going to need therapy at this rate.

"I'll talk to them," Finch says hurriedly. "But, truly: if there is anything I can do for you..."

Dr. Tillman knows she's being handed the equivalent of a blank check from none other than Harold Finch, but she's not really sure what to do with it. She's never been one for worldly possessions.

She does, however, really need a break.

"I could use a vacation," she admits. "Just a week or two. Dr. Kazuko can take care of them that long. I think."

"Where would you like to go? The Caribbeans are wonderful this time of year..."

"Anywhere _they_ aren't," Dr. Tillman says.

#####

Three days later she's swinging gently in a hammock between two shady palm trees, sipping something fruity and cool and vaguely alcoholic. Her nose is firmly in a book, her favorite Taormino anthology. The gentle, irregular whisper of the waves on the beach are lulling her into a state of deep bliss and relaxation.

And then her phone rings.

The phone that she distinctly remembers having turned _off_ three days ago, but carries in her beach bag in case of emergency.

 _The heck_? she thinks, digging out the phone. She flips it open and doesn't say anything, just listens.

"Hey, it's Elizabeth," says Elizabeth. "Quick question: how long can a healthy person hang upside-down from her ankles before—"

Dr. Tillman pops the battery out of the phone, drops both parts back into the bag, smiles, and returns to her book, feeling better than she has in months.

 _Fin._

#####

 **A/N Thanks for reading!**


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